


In death

by anwt2094



Category: Dragon Age - Various Authors
Genre: Book: Dragon Age - Tevinter Nights, F/M, Grey Wardens, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Survival, better ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anwt2094/pseuds/anwt2094
Summary: A continuation of the story The Horror of Hormak by John Epler. I really feel like Lesha got shafted in this story, and I aim to correct that. This will probably be a shorter one. Four to five chapters.
Kudos: 1





	In death

_In death, sacrifice._

Lesha was done. She had made it to the end of the road. A rather short one in retrospect. A little more than two years with the Wardens, and here she was. Dead. Of course, this was a thought that had come up before. Death never trailed too far behind a Grey Warden. Either on the battlefield or in the deep roads, her fate remained the same. To die and in doing so take as many of those bloody monsters with her. And she did it.

She and Ramesh had just discovered…well something. She wasn’t entirely sure what the monster was. It certainly wasn’t a darkspawn. Maybe elven? Regardless, it used darkspawn so it’s fate was the same. In their conflict with the beast, she had destroyed a large Lyrium Crystal necessary for it’s rituals. Big boom. The resulting explosion collapsed the room and brought half the mountain down on top of them. On top of her. The sudden and swift end matched only by her career as a Warden. At least Ramesh had gotten out. There was comfort in that.

So here she was. Dead. It was a rather strange feeling she thought. To be dead. Lesha had never been an Andrastian nor cared much for them. To her, life was about survival. Within the Imperium, then later within the Grey Wardens. Each step forward was another clutching grasp toward freedom. Freedom to be herself. Far from the machinations of those who would use her. Abuse her. Death was the opposite. It was the acceptance that her life was no longer her own. That whatever meager control she had in life was now over. Lesha had always hoped for nothing. That she would die and just be gone. All memory of joy and love and pain and sorrow simply stripped of her. This was different.

She felt cold for one thing. She had always assumed that in dying her connection to her body would be severed. Yet here she lay, distinctly aware of the cold creeping into her bones from the ground. She was aware of the ground and that she was laying on it too. It felt rough. As if parts of it were broken and jagged. She tried to move but felt a spasm of pain jolt up her spine.

“Aaauuggghh! Fuck…” she cried and groaned. “Oh…I can still talk…” Again, something quite unexpected in death. It appeared that many of her faculties remained intact upon her demise. Perhaps Andraste was real? Perhaps this was what the other side was like and she still needed her body to perceive it. But if that were the case, why would she be in pain? Wasn’t all of that supposed to be over?

Lesha attempted to open her eyes. Or at least she thought she did. She could feel the movement of her eyes opening and even groped blindly about her face with her right hand. It all felt the same. Everything still in the right place. However, her vision remained the same. Complete darkness. She couldn’t see anything. Perhaps this was death then? This was the nothingness she had imagined. It was simply limited to her sight. No, that didn’t make any sense. Why would she retain all other faculties with the exception of sight? In all the stories she had heard of the other side it was vividly described. And she had seen the fade before. Why would this be any different? Unless…

“Unless there’s no bloody light!” she half shouted into the darkness. ‘Idiot.’ She thought to herself. Here she was rambling on about why she couldn’t see in death when there just was not any light where she was. Stupid. Benefit of being a mage though; she could always make her own light. Lesha took a deep breath and pulled inward for the magic. It was always more difficult to do without a staff, but not impossible. A moment later Lesha felt the familiar bubble of magic within her. A little depleted, but nothing she couldn’t work with. Gently, she coaxed a small portion of it up from her center and along the length of her right arm. Pop. A soft blue light burst into existence in her hand. Lesha quickly shut her eyes as the light pushed painfully against them. She must have been dead for a while. A few moments later her eyes adjusted, and she opened them again.

Cool blue light filled the small space she lay in. The floor was gray stone that almost seemed to drink the blue from her light. Bringing her hands under her torso she tried to rise. Her head forcefully found the ceiling of her space almost immediately. “Fuck that hurt...” she cursed to herself as she rubbed to small spot on the top of her head. She must be in a fairly small space if she couldn’t even rise to her knees. Time for plan B. Laying back down she rolled onto her back and looked up.

“AAUUUGGGHHH!” She screamed suddenly. Looking down on her from the ceiling, not two feet from her own face, was another. The face of a Hurlock. In her panic her light had fluttered out, and darkness had taken her again. She was grateful for it. It hid her sudden tears and eventual laughs. Who was she to be afraid of a Hurlock? She had slain many in her time, and this would be no different. She laughed again at her own panic and started to pull for the magic. Maybe that’s what death was? Maybe she would just fight Darkspawn forever? Her own eternal battle. Maybe that was the fate of all Grey Wardens, and she would find others?

Light burst back into existence. The cool blue returned to the thirsty stones, and the Hurlock came back into view. Now prepared, Lesha felt no fear. Its face sagged at the sides and clouds had formed over its eyes. It had been dead for some time. Looking closer Lesha noticed that it wasn’t just a face. The face was attached to a head which connected to a neck and shoulders. These shoulders appeared to jut unnaturally from the ceiling. As if…

“No.” Adrenaline flooded through Lesha’s system as her stomach fell out from within her. “No! No!” Her hands scrabbled against the floor. The walls. The ceiling. Rough stone greeted her every touch. Broken, hefty chunks piled together forcefully. “NO! NO!” Piled together so suddenly they crushed the Hurlock above her. Most likely crushing many monsters above her. All except her. Her light flared out of existence as Lesha kicked and punched and screamed at the rocks that both saved and damned her. Not to die swift and glorious but to waste and decay. To be buried alive.

Lesha screamed and screamed and screamed. She cried out her horror and terror to the darkness. She shouted for help that would never come. She bellowed every breath of air she took in. She did all of this. Until she could not. Until the firm chords of her voice frayed and snapped and broke. Until even her voice abandoned her to this retched fate.

Time passed differently in her burial chamber. It had little meaning here. Had it been hours or days since the collapse. She had no way to tell. Unconsciousness came and she welcomed it gratefully. She wanted to go. She did not want to suffer alone in the dark, sleep was a precious gift. However, this gift was rudely interrupted.

Lesha had grown used to the cold. It had long since soaked its way into her frame. She had accepted this the same way she accepted her own fate. Another horror. Another trial to fight and drag herself through. It had numbed her so fully that she could no longer feel her fingers and toes. Perhaps this is why it took her so long to feel it. The light touch slithered across her exposed arms. Goosebumps rose and fell at it’s behest. A feeling equally soft and disquieting in her burial place. It rudely awoke Lesha from her reprieve and whispered words into her ear. Words of hope and hardship, and a path forward.

Fear filled Lesha’s heart as she tried to discern the Whisperer. She had known him many times before, but never in such an innocuous way. As if learning a horrible secret from a loved one. There very shape changed forever. From something familiar to the unknown. Lesha pulled the magic from her core and brought it to her fingertips. She felt the encouragement of the Whisperer and made manifest. A small flame formed at the tip of her index finger. A candle in the dark. The flame pulled and tugged and revealed the Whisperer’s true nature.

The Whisperer was a breeze.


End file.
